


force of nature

by softestrichie



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 03:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestrichie/pseuds/softestrichie
Summary: maggie tozier just wants richie to know she loves him. if only she could figure out how to say it.





	force of nature

**Author's Note:**

> a short piece about richie's relationship with his mother, or rather how i headcanon it.

Richie often thought his mother hated him. It was childish, and melodramatic, but he couldn't help himself. She was always upset with him. He'd always screwed up.  
It was the only explanation he could think of.  
Why else would she be so mad all the time?

Most of the time, however, Maggie Tozier was just worried.  
There were the little worries, like getting into work on time on weekdays, and getting everyone dressed for church on sundays. There were the big worries, like paying the bills on time, and affording to (finally) get the car fixed. Almost all of those would be ricocheting around Maggie's head, day in, day out, until she felt dizzy. Sometimes she wanted to cry.  
But those weren't too bad. Not really, if she thought about it. Those that really bothered her, that plagued her most wildly, were the Richie worries. What was Richie doing? What did Richie need? What was Richie thinking?  
Richie Tozier. Her son.  
Before they'd had him, you see, Maggie and Went had, rather foolishly, had a mutual vision of how they wanted their child to be. Polite, kind, well-behaved, friendly. Listening intently at church, getting homework done after school. All those values they'd grown up with.  
Privately, Maggie had always most keenly wanted a girl, pretty in pink. That would have been the dream. She'd linger on the little girls' dresses, pink and yellow and green, in every clothes store. She'd wanted it so badly.  
When tiny little Richie Tozier came, in all his bug-eyed, buck-toothed glory, it was certainly a wake up call. I'll adjust, Maggie told herself, I was daydreaming.  
And she did. Ballet shows were swapped with violent cartoon box sets, and pink ribbons were swapped for ugly animal puppets that Richie found funny (God knows why). Maggie's son was loud, and clumsy, and didn't know how to talk to people properly. He didn't focus on anything that wasn't flashy or funny or inappropriate, and he'd break everything, no matter how new or dear, she'd put in his hands. He was a force of nature.  
Maggie couldn't keep up with him, no matter how hard she sprinted. She was confused, on the best of days, and on the worst, she was afraid.  
That was the real issue at hand: fear. Richie frightened her. When he started going to school, Maggie was a nervous wreck.  
'Richie jumped off the climbing frame and chipped his front tooth.'  
'Richie had to be sat out in the corridor to do his work.'  
When he reached about age 10 or 11, the fear was reaching its climax. It seemed that even to other children, Richie was, in the bluntest of terms, weird. They beat him down, bad. He was pushed on the playground and robbed of his schoolbags and dubbed as cruel names - bucky beaver, bucky beaver, bucky beaver. After picture day, Derry Middle School had mailed her a framed photo of Richie with one very angry, swollen black eye.  
Maggie knew Richie was miserable. His withdrawal into himself was different to how other children's might have been; if anything he grew more erratic. The voices and jokes grew louder, wilder, more vulgar. He'd keep shouting, and swearing, and laughing, laughing, laughing, if it meant he wasn't crying. Anything but quiet. Anything but reality. Anything but accepting who he really was.  
It scared Maggie so very much. It scared her that she was at an utter loss for how to help him. She wanted to, really. His friends seemed to have it figured out. She watched them sometimes, across the living room. How an agitated Richie would only have to fidget with Eddie Kaspbrak's hair, laugh at Bill Denbrough's joke, listen to Beverly Marsh's story, and he was good as new. They understood him.  
When Maggie tried it, all that would come out was a tut, or a moan, or a snap. Only frustration made its way to the surface. Went wasn't exactly much help, either. He was more embarrassed than truly concerned. His advice only made Richie feel smaller, and angrier. Lonelier.  
Sometimes Maggie felt like her son was getting further and further away from her by the minute, just out of her reach. If she could only stretch out her fingers, just an inch, in time, she'd tug him back down to earth. Soon, he'd be above her head, above the clouds, above the stars. A real alien. He'd be gone forever.  
It was the night that barely-seventeen year old Richie Tozier came home with a broken nose and a morose disposition that Maggie felt he was at last just, just within reach.  
"You just keep on getting yourself into trouble, don't you? You and that mouth."  
Richie looked at her darkly from under an ice pack she'd given him. His glasses were cracked. Only bought a week ago.  
"You wouldn't get it," he said.  
Maggie sighed. She felt a pang deep in her stomach. "Wouldn't kill you to try and explain, Rich." Please talk to me Richie.  
"'Yeah it would. You're always angry."  
She paused, looking at him. Richie didn't look back. He never made eye contact. "I'm not-" Maggie paused, trying to soften herself. "I'm not angry. Never angry. I'm just frustrated."  
He let out a snarling sigh. "Ever thought I'm frustrated, too?"  
"Yes," Maggie replied, before really thinking. "That's why I get upset." Something had come unblocked, deep inside of her. A rusty tap, finally turning with a blood-curdling creak. "Y'know, I just want you to be alright, Richie."  
He was looking at her now. The blood had drained from his face. He looked like a little boy again.  
"What do you mean?"  
The dam inside Maggie Tozier was well and truly breaking. He was inches away, finally. She could almost feel his warmth. "I know you're sad Rich, I know you don't like yourself. It just frustrates me. I know it's hard on you. I just want to make you happy... that's all I ever wanted."  
Richie was fidgeting with his fingers. They were shaking like leaves. She'd have told him off for that, usually, (would you just sit still?!) but now it didn't seem so important.  
Instead, she put her hand over them, soft and warm over shaky and cold. He looked at them for a few seconds, bewildered. His breathing hitched; he was going to say something.  
I love you?  
"Thanks mom."  
That's enough.  
Maggie smiled. She thought he looked happy too. She'd always been able to read his expressions, see, assess his emotions. He was surprised, Maggie thought, but very comforted. Maybe loved.  
He smiled back.

Perhaps Maggie and Richie had always understood each other, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> my very first fic! thank you for all the encouragement via tumblr. ♡


End file.
